


A Touch of Wonder

by Brynstein



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, Post-Episode: s06e08 The Rain King, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynstein/pseuds/Brynstein
Summary: This isn't your average, everyday, run-of-the-mill alien abduction. Mulder knows it and, as usual, Scully won't have any of it. When 32 cars crash simultaneously across 20 different states, it is up to Mulder to drag Scully into a secret investigation behind the FBI's back.Time is running out. Will either of them admit their feelings before it's too late?
Relationships: Fox Mulder & Dana Scully, Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	1. A Touch of Boredom

With every ultimatum he had ever given her, she had always chosen him. Trusted him. Heck, she had even ran after him. Would there ever be a time where she would not spare him this liberty? _The curiosity of it_ , he found himself wondering, _after all the suffering we have shared, why is it so hard to step out of my mind and reach out to her?_ They had held their bleeding hearts out to each other wrapped in embrace. Too frequently had he found his thoughts shift towards her, like her she had some sort of gravitational effect on him. _Like the sun and the planets... Like I'm revolving around her... Like she is the light and warmth without which I can't survive..._

_Like to see her sure-footed scientific theories navigate that one._

_Too much thinking. All this boredom isn't good._

Suddenly aware of himself, Mulder quickly looked away, not wanting to cause embarrassment. He tried to resist himself in spite of his curiosity, but he couldn't help it. He stole another glance. There she was, sat upright and cross-legged in one of her many colourful pantsuits, her little fingers dancing over the keyboard.

Tip-a-tee Tap-a-tee.

Mulder leaned back in his chair and gave an exasperated huff.

_The patterns on the ceiling look particularly interesting today._

In the corner of her monitor, Mulder's reflection impersonated that impatient, impulsive kid Scully had always known him to be. The kid she would have probably found at the back of math class, doodling discreetly in the corner of his book. _Stupid idiot. Always misbehaving._ Yet she couldn't think of him without letting a small smile creep in at the corner of her mouth. But she mustered all of her energy to keep a level voice as she asked him: "Mulder, have you finished any of those reports yet?"

"Not a single, damn one."

A few more seconds slipped past before she wryly replied. Not that he minded. Nor noticed. An empty train thought was racing the tracks of his mind, occupying his time.

"I have heard that the view of the pencils is particularly wonderful this time of year."

Surprised, he looked at her and chuckled. She hadn't even so much as turned in his direction.

"You got new superpowers you didn't tell me about, Scully?"

Finally turning to face him, she pried the round glasses from her nose, wrinkling and blinking in the process, glad for any distraction from the screen she had been shackled to. She sat just that extra inch taller in the knowledge that he had been gazing at her, as he often did when he thought she couldn't see him. _Stupid idiot_. She folded the arms of her glasses and delicately placed them down next to an organised pile of folders. Admittedly, her desk was a lot neater than his. He looked down at his wandering disarray of papers and, _Yup_ , he was jealous of her desk.

"Just a reflection in a computer screen..."

_Crap! Did she see me the whole time?_

"... You've been staring into space for the last half hour: dreaming of aliens again?"

Relief and guilt tasted bitter shaken in this cocktail: the ambivalence was sickening. He hated it when she teased him like this. From other people he could stand it, but from her it made him feel guilty, like he should be better in order to save her from the extent of his public humiliation. Though in many ways, he had come to view her as his saving grace. _How many times has she saved my ass now? Must be at least..._

She raised her eyebrow and tore into him with perfect intrigue. He replied with a soft laugh and a gentle shake of his head. Scully relished that their silent words were frequently the ones that were loudest spoken.

"How's your new desk?" He almost immediately regretted asking the question, but he knew it would have been uncourteous not to have extended the formalities.

In truth, it wasn't even a desk. In the corner of their office stood an old, wooden table. He had spied it at a thrift store somewhere between the J. Edgar Hoover building and his apartment. He had thought about saving it for a special occasion, but somehow the gift seemed more meaningful unadulterated by a holiday or birthday. Nevertheless, he had still draped it in a fine table-cloth, with a floppy ribbon-bow placed on top. He had refrained from placing a few scented candles in the middle. _A candle-lit dinner would probably have been a step too far._

Knocks and bruises were visible through the flaking varnish, miniature gargoyle smiles stared out from the top of four table legs, and it had a thin microwave-oven instruction manual wedged under one leg to stop it toppling over. But Mulder had protested it had character, pointing out the common confusion between gargoyles and grotesques on gothic church buildings _"...see, the simple carvings are called grotesques and do not form part of the water drainage infrastructure, whereas gargoyles have open mouths to dispel the water..."_ before demonstrating how this was the real deal, all barely after she had lifted the cloth. She had stood arms folded, unimpressed by the new decor and he began to anticipate that she wouldn't appreciate the tiny trough and drainage system he had built in _"...for when you spill your coffee, Scully..."_ He had thought it was whimsical and intriguing, but when he saw it through her eyes for the first time, he was swamped in its absurdity. It weighed him down no end now that he could tell that it was not normal nor practical enough to be a Scully desk.

"It has been a long time coming. How long has it been now?" was her retort. Though he could tell she was making the effort to add a faux brightness to her inflection.

"Too long."

He got up, walked around, stretched his legs. _Anything to get out of this damn place._ Finally, leaning on his desk, he sought comfort in playing safe, old, familiar words back again. _At least these_ , he thought, _can't go wrong_.

"You know Scully, they got us down here doing mindless admin, when we should be hunting down evidence of Pixies and Ghoulies, and Sasquatchin'." When he put it like that, it almost seemed like a perfect fairy-tale .

"You know Mulder, I have lost count of the times you've said that this week alone. Kersh has us down here because he knows that you especially hate the paperwork." The retaliation was as quick as the crack of a whip. She had mimicked his tone so infallibly, that he thought he could see a smirk behind her lips.

"Aw, c'mon, you know this is worse than that assignment out in the country, with that pile of mumbo-jumbo crap about fertiliser. And _that_ –" he emphasised his point with the wave of a finger– "was a waste of dead brain cells."

"And why do you think Deputy Director Kersh has us in the basement all week?"

"Hey, you agreed to go along with me on that one."

"And who got into a car with the suspect and proceeded to drive halfway across the continent?"

"And who gave me directions?" He paused before continuing, "Look, all I'm saying is we are stuck down here and you can't be enjoying this half as much as I am. We need to get out for a bit. If I don't, I think my head might just explode."

Scully did that thing where her annoyance rolled around her eyes, fell off of her sigh and landed in the lap of her folded arms.

"Alright, what did you find?"

"It's funny you should ask that."

He moved with new, inspired energy to his computer, turning the monitor to face Scully. She leaned in, squinting at the diagrams and paragraphs of analysis depicted in pixels. Her expression was one of possible musing, but he knew from experience that her skepticism had set in hard and fast before he had even had a chance to explain himself. He just hoped the monotony waiting for her in the unsorted files was enough to hear him out. 

"Car crashes," she bluntly replied, not having read the text in its entirety. She'd let him enjoy unravelling the mystery in all its Technicolor-ed glory. _For someone who likes the spotlight, it's a wonder no UFOs have abducted him yet. Certainly be convenient for the government... and my sanity_. But she knew she didn't really mean it.

"Yes, thirty-two in total."

She continued blase, knowing full well that she was pushing all of his buttons. "Well, what so strange about that? Road accidents happen all the time." Each word was executed with exact expertise: she had gotten good at playing this game.

"In and of itself; nothing. But the nature of the crashes themselves is what makes this different. Thirty-two cars disappeared from the road two days ago at nine pm eastern standard time..." 

"But there are reports from Texas and Oregon here as well. Are you saying they disappeared simultaneously?" 

"Yes and then they all appeared within a 30-mile radius, mostly in forests or local swamps. And get this; all the victims reported time loss." 

"I'm not surprised! A crash that bad and you're bound to be unconscious."

Scully was well aware of what he was getting at and the look on her face told him that she disapproved. Mulder waited eagerly for her to reason with him, but they both knew nothing she could have to say would alter the direction in which this was going. But that didn't stop her trying: "If you want to prance around extra-terrestrial forests and swamps all day, you've got to do it on their terms, Mulder. You know that. We are close enough to seeing the back door of the bureau as it is. You've got to, you know, behave a bit first."

It was him raising his eyebrows at her this time as if to say: _And when the hell is that likely to happen?_

"I think I'm going to stay with my new desk, " she replied coyly, desperately attempting to get him to stay. "I've grown rather fond of it."

"Well, I'm going to get a car ready, you coming?"

He was already out of the door before she had time to argue.


	2. A Touch of The King

The car journey down to North Carolina was filled with silences, mostly on Scully's behalf. She stared out of the window and tried to ignore the crunching of sunflower seeds coming from the other seat. The sound of shells cascading into the cup holder amused her. The plinking was predictable, almost keeping perfect rhythm. It was like a sort of natural body clock that could easily slip in and out of practice. She appreciated the sentiment that his father had left in those seeds, but _my God!_ She wished he could have left Mulder with a habit less annoying. So trying to ignore it, she pretended to take more interest in the drizzle drooling down the glass pane. She smiled, confessing to the dreary world outside: _annoying, yet endearing._

"You know I was thinking about the case," he began. 

_That doesn't surprise me_ , she thought, tracing the trail of a raindrop down the window with her eyes. 

"It's got all the indications of an abduction–" 

She laughed under her breath at how he didn't even bother qualifying it with 'alien'. 

"–the lost time, the misplacement, the lack of witnesses..."

"Convenient," she interjected. 

He shot her a withering look. "But there's just some details that don't fit the profile. Usually, a trail of people go missing over a prolonged time period, but these were all taken and returned within three hours. And then there's the lack of connection between the abductees. It just doesn't add up; there's no pattern."

She tried to rationalise the situation for her own benefit as much as his. "Well, there might have been evidence that was overlooked by the sheriff. We are going to the accident site so you'll know more then. But in the meantime..."

Silence spoke for a few seconds before Mulder reached for the cassette player and All Shook Up started reverberating around the car. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, the beat controlling him like a fever.

Tip-a-tee Tap-a-tee.

Scully returned her gaze to out of the window before she had to acknowledge Mulder's taste in music. _I wish had never given him those damn tapes_. 

He hadn't quit playing them since his birthday last year. Whether it was in the office, at his apartment, or in the car, the trail of Elvis Presley clung to him like a bad smell, and like mould, it was growing. She could have sworn that he managed to play ever more songs by the day. She had to admit though, it was kind of catchy, even if it was catchy like a virus, and even if she couldn't really hear the tune beneath Mulder's singing.

_Oh well bless my soul_

_What's wrong with me?_

The lyrics crept over Scully's lips, trickling out like the rain outside. Against her best wishes, the music forced her hand and she relented.

_I'm in love_

_I'm all shook up_

He could see out of the corner of his eye, the minute movements of Scully's head conducting the beat. He didn't make a fuss about her singing, not even to joke about one of her most endearing traits. It was nice to see the musical power of Presley win her over. _The King saves the day._

Her hair bobbed about, and he realised that he would never know its true colour. He thought about what people had told him: _as fiery as she was... the colour to match her personality._

_And yet all I see is brown_.

The first time he had asked anyone was A.D. Skinner. The conversation rang through his mind with absolute clarity. He remembered his and Scully's meeting pertaining to the death of Eugene Victor Tooms. The figure deforming freak still chilled his blood. Hurting Scully like that; how could he? He remembered watching Scully leave; her looking back at him from around the door; her hand gently resting on the wood. Even then, their silent communication had been strong. He had reassured her with a look to say: _Go on, I'll be out in a minute._ He remembered her small smile and compliance, as she closed the door behind her. He remembered his mouth drying out when he turned to speak to Skinner. _"Scully, her hair, is it brown or red?"_ How far out of line he felt he had stepped. He had thought it could have been the last meeting he would have. He remembered the shock on a normally unfazed face, and his surprise and dismay when Skinner answered _"Red."_ He had nodded solemnly _. "Thanks."_ He remembered not making it half way across the room when the calling of his name had dragged him back to the dangerous ice he was skating on. _"Agent Mulder, what is this about?"_ He had thought back to an earlier talk: _It could be love_. He had left the silence to fill in for his answer.

Mulder hadn't the heart to tell Scully his colour-blindness was sometimes the reason she found him with a tear rolling down his cheek. _The only person I care about and I can never see her properly_. It hadn't ever bothered him before they met, but she had changed everything. _She always changes everything_. It was times like this that he realised the nuisance, moreover, how much she meant to him. He continued to sing in order to mask his thoughts, concentrating on Scully's jovial little jive. The lyrics got caught in his throat, as if he was only just hearing the song for the first time.

_I'm in love_

_I'm all shook up_


	3. A Touch of Salt

Tires screeched to a holt along the forest dirt track. The car slid where the mud had gotten worse with the rain that was now relentlessly bombarding the car. Tall, lush conifers flanked them on either side and would have blocked the light from the sun if the grey dismal clouds hadn't beaten them to it. They both looked at each other, neither of them wanted to get out. Ahead of them, a drenched sheriff was hailing them with a wave of his hand. The other officers clustered around the police car were clearly as happy with the weather as Scully and Mulder.

Scully was the first to move. "Come on, I feel bad making him wait any longer." She pushed the door open and immediately the pitter-pattering became raucous as the rain made its way inside the car. Mulder groaned, forced to accept reality. _Why did she have to pull the handle?_ He clambered awkwardly out, grimacing at the cold seeping through his suit. She marched on ahead, determined to beat the weather with an even more hardened face. She was standing with the sheriff, arms crossed, looking at the floor, waiting impatiently for him to catch up. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, she glanced up at Mulder on his approach. He was quick to address the sheriff, save addressing the alternative.

"What have you got for us sheriff err...?"

"Sheriff Roberts. Just the site as we found it. One of the boys came across it on his forest patrol this morning. We are usually out here checking for gangs of kids, you know, doing drugs, any kind of violent, antisocial behaviour: this is quite different."

Scully rolled her eyes. _No shit Sherlock_. 

Sheriff Roberts continued: "The car's just up the embankment but there doesn't seem to be any damage to the surrounding environment. It's like it crashed without crashing into anything. We're scratching our heads over this one."

"Any evidence of drink driving or substance abuse?" She was asking out of routine by this point, hoping, but seriously doubting that the answer would be 'yes'. 

"No ma'am, no such thing that we could find."

She smiled courteously. "Thank you."

Sheriff Roberts moved to speak with the other law enforcement officers down on the road. Mulder leaned in to tease Scully, making sure that the sheriff was out of earshot: "Curiouser and curiouser."

The embankment, though only small, was a dangerous, muddy incline and difficult to scale. She took his outstretched hand for support and together they climbed up, hand in hand. Their grip was slippy in the rain, but Scully held on with a fury, squeezing his hand much tighter than was necessary. All the while her mind was racing with the contact: _Please don't let go. Please don't let go_. When they reached the top of the hill and Mulder had managed to squirm free of her grasp, she whispered "Thanks." But it was so quiet that he was barely able to hear it.

 _So this is what all the fuss is about_. She moved closer to take a better look. There lay the car crumpled beaten and bruised, and the sheriff was right: not a scratch on a tree or so much as a broken branch. He was already ahead of her, sizing up the evidence, fitting it to his profile.

"Despite what you might think, Mulder, I am still unconvinced by the details the sheriff gave us. A few things don't make sense."

He nodded, vaguely hearing what she was saying but too enthralled by the case to pay much attention. "There are no car doors, Scully. Not on the car or anywhere else. Where did they go?"

She sighed. This was beyond her understanding as well. "I don't know." 

"Did you notice anything else strange back there?"

"What?"

"No tire marks. The car didn't drive up here."

"Mulder, it's been raining all day. It's not impossible that any tracks could have been washed away, " she pointed out, her logic dodging yet another conspiracy bullet. 

"Look at this, Scully." He was kneeling down, scraping lumps of white crystal from the metal of the roof. The jagged shapes rolled over the pads of his middle and index fingers as he rubbed them against his thumb. Hesitantly, he lifted his hand to smell and then taste it. Scully flinched in disgust. _Ugh, Mulder._

"Salt."

"Well it can't be a cult or ritualistic killing; that would be inconsistent with the multiple other cases of the same variety. The amount of organisation an-and planning that would have taken, let alone the number of people involved would be too vast to control: someone somewhere would have faltered." It was her best explanation, and it wasn't even that.

He turned to look at her. "I don't think this some mock-up witchcraft; I think it's some sort of chemical reaction– possibly physical too. What if the victim didn't die from a car crash on his return? What if the car was taken with him?" 

He stood up and brushed himself down, wiping his hands on the sides of his jacket. There was a time when this would have embarrassed and infuriated Scully, but now she found herself shyly smiling at his shortcomings, if still a little annoyed for the perfectly good suit. 

"We should get this car checked over. I'm going to talk to the first officer on the scene: get his version of events. Did Sheriff Roberts say who it was?"

"No, I don't think so, but they are all still down there, so you should be able to catch them. I think I'll head down to the..." 

He was already running down the embankment shouting behind him, "Thanks, Scully!"

"Morgue! I want to assess the body and the coroner's notes!" she yelled back.

.....

"Sheriff Roberts! Sheriff Roberts!" The sheriff and the rest of the group turned to see a madman running toward them, the tails of his coat flapping in the wind. "Sheriff, who did you say was the first officer on the scene?"

"Oh, that would have been Jakob Hoffe." He motioned in Jakob's general direction before introducing the other officer with him. "This here is my wife Freda, one our finest and possibly the US's too." He smiled and winked at her, it was just a joke but he hadn't managed to relieve the web of tension that Mulder had blundered into. Freda returned the gesture with a weak smile, agitated by the crowd of people around her. Mulder could tell she was covering up a private matter.

"I just need to talk to officer Hoffe, if that's alright with you?" 

Jakob nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"So the site is exactly as you found it, nothing has been taken without record?"

"No. W-well, the coroners came and took the body away, but that would have been documented, wouldn't it?" 

Mulder noted the trembling of his hands. _Nervous_. 

"Do you know at what time the car crashed?"

"No, no, I'm not entirely sure the car did crash."

"Okay, so at what time did the car _appear_?"

"Well, I don't know. I couldn't really tell. Sometime before midnight. That's when w- I found it."

Mulder cocked his head slightly at the trip up but didn't push it. _Hiding something maybe?_

"What were you doing when you discovered the car? Sheriff Roberts says that you were on some kinda drugs bust, but this is pretty far from civilisation to go for a quick trip, isn't it?"

Jakob looked to the sheriff for reassurance before he answered. _Definitely hiding something._

"Well, they think if they come out this far, they think they won't get caught."

Behind them, Freda Roberts tugged at her husband's sleeve, water droplets dripping off the cuff. She whispered, "Ollie, what were you doing out last night?"

He halted her, raising his hand for her to stop. "It's fine. Just leave it, okay?" 

"You would tell me if you were out here, Oliver?"

"Of course."

"And were you?" Mulder turned to them, insensitively interjecting into their private conversation. 

"No. I -uh, no," was all he managed to meekly reply.


	4. A Touch of Frustration

Scully was leaning in front of a black body bag, hands clamped on the cold metal table. _I wonder what this delightful piñata has installed for us today_. She unzipped the bag apathetically.

"Autopsy beginning August twelfth, 4:24 pm. The deceased is one John Tucker, white American, aged twenty-seven. The subject is seventy inches in length, not accounting for the crushed cranium. The subject weighs- huh- seventy-seven pounds. Surprising, given his stature. Cause of death is likely to be impact trauma to the brain, but the condition of the cranium could have occurred post mortem. Unknown time of death, but the subject's broken watch would appear to coincide with his injuries, so time of death has been taken at nine pm eastern standard time, yesterday.

"The external exam shows the aforementioned crushed cranium, as well as both wrists and ankles broken, a brake in the right ulna and a fracture in the right radius, a brake in the right tibia, and three broken ribs on that same side. Bruising occurs on both sides of the body irrespective of bone injury. These injuries were most likely sustained from a single traumatic impact, that crushed the car along with the subject inside. This does not explain the subject's lack of body mass, and how the subject doesn't look underweight. I will, therefore, begin with the Y incision."

She took up a scalpel, drawing swiftly down from sternum to navel. Her movements were strong and smooth, never faltering under the scolding white spotlight. She had uncovered her fair share of odd cadavers, but no amount of experience in the field would prepare her for this discovery.

"Oh my God!"

She peeled back the dermal layer to reveal nothing. No lungs. No stomach. No liver. No heart. None of it. Beneath the rib cage was an empty casket of human soul.

_What the hell?!_

Stunned, Scully stared unable to confront the corpse. The shock grasped her mobility, toying with it for fun. Surprise had its fingers wrapped around her ankles, tightening its grip, anchoring her to the ground. Finally shaking free of the shackles, she rushed to her cell, trembling as she punched the numbers in.

"Mulder, it's me. This is seriously weird...

"No, I'm just in the middle of it... 

"Yes, that's why I am phoning you...

"Well if I could get a word in... 

"Ugh... 

"No... 

"This victim they pulled from the wreckage has no vital organs and his nervous system is so mangled. I can't make head or tail of it... 

"And the rest... 

"Mulder, this is serious...

"That would have been convenient... 

"But there are no incisions marks on the body, there is nowhere these organs could have gone... 

"I don't know. I would have said impact trauma before I cut him up, but there are just so many things up with the guy. It's possible that the organ removal was the cause: complete organ failure. Or complete failure to have them... 

"Mm-hmm... 

"Probably about another hour or so..."

"I–" she was about to say something else, but as usual, Mulder had already hung up.

"Typical."

.....

_Typical_. 

Mulder rapped his fingers on the counter.

Tip-a-tee Tap-a-tee. 

"Are you sure you can't get it done sooner?"

The woman behind the desk gave him a steely smile. Her hair was pulled back militarily into a slick bun, almost lifting the wrinkles from around her eyes. Almost, but not quite. Her age was visibly etched onto her face; canals of time carved through sun-beaten skin. Stray, unruly, grey hairs disobediently stood on end, framing her features with frizz.

"If we could do it sooner, I would have said, wouldn't I?"

Mulder examined the place, trying to look like he was considering an important decision. Heaven forbid he should catch that stare. _Clean. Unusually clean_. For a garage, it was suspiciously spotless. Not a splodge of oil, not so much as a speck of dust anywhere. She was the sort of woman that he didn't feel it would be wise to argue with. They both knew she had already won.

Just then, his cell buzzed in his pocket. _Saved by the Bell._

"Have you finished the autopsy?

"Have you found anything interesting yet?

"What is it?

"Go on, I'm listening...

"Was that a scoff I heard, Scully?

"What is it then?

"So he's got no heart, no liver, or lungs?

"Wow. That guy must have been light enough to float onto the UFO. I need to get me what diet he was on...

"What happened to the organs? Could somebody have got to him first? Cut him up and auctioned him as frozen goods?

"But?

"So what's the cause of death?

"Scully, this is no time for one of your jokes. This is serious...

"I'll finish sorting the car out for examination and meet you at the morgue. What time are you gonna finish up?

"Okay, see you then."

He snapped his cell shut and turned to the irritated lady, squinting at her name badge.

"I'll come back tomorrow, err Martha, say about five? I'll see what you have then. Okay, bye." He briskly left, feeling the heat of Martha's frustration on the back of his neck.


	5. A Touch of Static

Exactly an hour later, Mulder swung open the doors to the examination room, sauntering cheekily in. Scully turned from her work, thankful for his warm presence in the chill atmosphere. She rubbed her arms, goosebumps prickling her palms. Beneath the counter, she curled her toes, grateful for the relief from the extra three inches of much-needed height her shoes provided, but also aware of the numbness from the invading cold. Mulder, on the other hand, radiated energy. He was in a goofy mood; she could tell. His anticipated footsteps tapped on the freezing, hard floor.

"Heyyy, Scully. How's it going?"

"Fine, I'm just writing up the rest of my notes."

He moved closer to her, hands behind his back, excitedly trying to gain her attention. He finally gave in at the sight of a befuddled frown growing on her forehead.

"Look, I bought dinner!" He held a brown paper bag aloft, jingling it with a grin.

"Mmm, that smells good. What is it?"

"Just some fried chicken they had at a diner down the road. I might take you for a milkshake there afterward." He sipped some ice-tea casually, attempting to make nothing of the comment. However, Scully wasn't going to let this one slide. 

"Mulder? Are you offering to take me out for dessert?"

"What?!" he yelped guiltily, throwing his hands up in defence. "You don't have to have a milkshake if you don't want."

"No, that sounds... nice." She felt giddy at the prospect, like a teenager on a first date. She wasn't entirely sure what to make of it. _For Christ's sake! Don't get too excited; it's just a milkshake_. Her eyes met his, the harsh, sterile light picking out flecks of green in his hazel irises. She found her teeth clamping her crumbling lip, biting away intoxicating feelings. _Oh brother_.

"Here, I got you some root beer."

She took the drink, shaking her head, partly in disbelief, partly to keep herself from smiling. It didn't really work though, he could see the upturned corners of her dainty mouth through the strands of hair that had fallen across her face.

She swivelled around on the stool, her back now to the paper work. "How come you took the car to the garage and not a forensic lab?"

"We got to go local. We can't let the FBI catch wind of this. Remember, we're not even supposed to be out here." There was that mischievous glint in his eye.

"Sorry, I'm not used to such... secretive investigations." She looked up at him through her eyelashes, sipping through the straw, rolling it over her tongue. _Unusually playful are we this evening, Ms. Scully?_ The straw was already badly bitten, the paper slowly turning to mulch. Mulder never understood how out of the two of them, it was him that couldn't stand chewing those god awful things.

He took the dig on the chin, making a joke of it as always. "Its a good job you're in safe hands. You never know, you might pick up a few tricks of the trade."

"Mulllderrr!" She was about to chastise him for his unorthodox methods, but it was futile having that conversation again for the umpteenth time. Instead, she gave him a sigh and a roll of her eyes, jokingly shoving him as she tidied up her remaining papers. Moving with speed, she waltzed around him, removing her scrubs and replacing them with a jacket and long, flowing trench coat. Mulder had always had a thing for long costs, especially when they wrapped Scully in an ethereal, mysterious demeanour. She approached him after slipping on her court shoes. 

_Goddess in heals._

_Jeez, Mulder. Shut up before you start blabbing._

She looked at him squarely. There was nowhere he could hide from those vibrant oceans of blue eyes. He thought he was drowning in her gaze. He was anchored to her calm voice like the lull of deep sea currents dragging him under.

"I need to get a forensics team to do a sweep of the car though, to see if there's any evidence of organ tissue." She ardently tried to put on her professional tone. _This is professional after all, isn't it Dana?_ She was transfixed by his care and smile and his soft brown hair that was pushed up out of his hazel eyes for once. _How are they so hazel?_

Nodding with acknowledgement, he softly answered. "I'll see what I can do."

He tenderly placed a hand on the small of her back as they left the room. Even through three layers of clothing, he could have sworn he felt her twitch against his touch.

"Did you get any spicy wings?"

"Always," he laughed, slightly offended that she could ever doubt him.

.....

The rain had cleared by the time they left the morgue, leaving rays of sun shining through dark clouds. The energy of the storm still thickly hung close in the air. The atmosphere was charged. Electrifying. Exciting. They found a nearby bench to eat their picnic dinner. Mulder pouted at the puddles he would have to sit on before Scully removed her coat and placed it over the seat.

"Scully, you didn't have to do that. I was just about to..."

"It was already damp anyway."

They dug into the bag, enjoying the peace of the evening that late summer. The chicken was warm and scrumptious and messy, but neither of them minded. They consumed happiness and laughter, licking chicken greased fingers. These moments were precious where they could bury themselves in their friendship, oblivious to the time ticking by all around them. It was just them and nothing else mattered.

Once the food was finished and the serviettes scrunched up, Scully dared to challenge Mulder on his proposal, the heat of the storm fuelling her audacity. This was reckless. Electrifying. Exciting.

She made a point of articulating her words with precision, each of them hitting Mulder with directed intent. "I seem to remember something about a milkshake."

His suave exterior was betrayed by a grin. "Is that so? I guess I better keep my promise then." He hopped up and held out a hand, inviting her to join him. "Agent Scully, will you accompany me on a quest for milkshake?"

"Most certainly, Agent Mulder." It was impossible to stifle her own grin.

Linking arms, they walked back to the car, not making it all the way before Scully let go, somehow confused and uncomfortable with such an open display of casual affection. _I thought I wanted this?_ Smiling apologetically, she placed her small hand in his strong one, trying to make it up to him. She squeezed it gently, letting go once more, unable to commit to even that. _What is wrong with me?_


	6. A Touch of Dessert

A couple of minutes down the road, the silver bell that hung above the door of Little Chicken's Diner cheerfully jingled. A short redheaded woman held open the door, allowing a taller man to walk in first. The quiet kerfuffle of other people's conversations was comforting. They were safe: they could hide.

Mulder eyed the last booth left as they passed it on their way to the counter. He pictured the warn, leather seats and Formica-plastered table in his mind, hoping that he could psychically ward off any opportunistic customers. He imagined how adorable a small Scully would look curled up in the corner of the seat. _But then again_ , _Scully is always adorable._

Ahead of them, retro-painted, metal menu boards lined the back wall, each depicting an array of humbling American cuisine. Neon signs lit the diner in a welcoming light; a light that flowed throughout the room spilling into every nook and cranny. A chirpy woman appeared; her rosy cheeks glossed where the artificial light bounced off of them. Her smile was genuine though and Scully appreciated that, even if Mulder wasn't paying much attention.

"Hello, welcome to Little Chicken's Diner. My name is Marcy. How may I help you today?"

"Uh, yeah. I'd like a Hershey's chocolate milkshake, with extra cream." Mulder was quick to answer, still anxiously eyeing the cosy little booth. He had already known what he was going to have when he had suggested the idea to Scully. He had only asked her as an excuse to make the order. But he would never let her know that.

Scully was still musing through all the possibilities as Mulder started to impatiently sway in time to the stereo playing rock and roll in the background. 

"And could I please have a banana and yogurt milkshake."

Mulder rolled his incredulous eyes at her. _Really?! I take you out for a milkshake and decide to have a health kick at the same time?_

"Will that be all?" Marcy asked, noticing the friction tangeable between the couple.

"Actually," Mulder glanced nervously at Scully. "could we have a banana boat, please... To share?"

That got Scully's attention. _Mulder, what are you playing at?_ A million and one questions swam around her mind, making their way down to her heart, pounding through her chest cavity. That low dull ache harboured there began to grow. 

Marcy curtiously smiled. "Sure. I'll call your order up in a minute."

"Put it under John Smith."

She nodded and got to work promptly, deftly taking down glasses for their milkshakes. Their tiny clinking melded into the buzzing hum of small talk. 

"Mulder..." Scully was going to pull Mulder up for the unexpected sharing platter, but he had already made a beeline for the booth, only to find Sheriff Roberts and Officer Hoffe had taken it.

Mulder cussed under his breath. "Oh hey, Sheriff, Officer. Didn't expect to see you here."

The sheriff was quick to conceal his shock. "Likewise. What a pleasant surprise."

They both hastily retracted their hands under the table. Jakob surreptitiously looked towards Oliver, whilst Oliver resisted doing the same. Jakob licked his chapped lips, noting how the tension parched his throat.

"This is our favourite place to talk cases over. It's nice here."

Mulder didn't have to be an expert profiler to know that Jakob was lying to him. _Still hiding something. Forbidden love?_

He pathetically made his save-me-face at Scully, itching to get free from the delicate situation. She quickly caught up, her presence lifting the blanket of discomfort that had settled between the three of them.

"Hello, Sheriff Roberts, isn't it? Good to see you."

"It is, Agent Scully, and please, call me Oliver. How did the autopsy go? I saw you ordered one at the station."

Scully smiled, forgetting how nice it was to be noticed sometimes.

"I don't think bizarre cuts it. All the vital organs had been removed prior to my examination, and as far as I can tell, it's the same in all the other instances - from what I have heard back from Oregon, Texas, and Wyoming."

"There are other cases of this?" Jakob's dark, brown eyes were fixed on Scully.

Oliver interjected: "Oh, Agent Scully, I don't know think you've had the pleasure. This is Officer Jakob Hoffe - first officer on the scene."

"Yes, and it is a pleasure." She shook his hand, unable to contain her smile that stretched from ear to ear. _Ooh. Firm grip._ Mulder made an effort not to roll his eyes in front of them He knew that tone: clearly Scully thought this guy was hot. Scully bit her lip in a bid to control herself. "There are thirty-two cases in total."

"Well the sooner we can solve this, the better." Jakob flashed a smile.

"Agreed," Mulder replied, jumping in before Scully had a chance to say anything more.

Across the room, a voice shouted out "Order for John Smith!"

"C'mon that's us, Scully!" His alleviation was so audible that it could have been mistaken for excitement. He pulled at her arm, dragging her away from the precious booth that he had wanted to reserve. Scully stumbled after him, unable to keep up with his long, frustrated strides.

"I won't always be there to save you from the trouble you cause, Mulder. I hope you know that."

_Yeah, yeah_. "You keep telling yourself that, Scully." 

Marcy served Mulder the tray of delicacies. From his jacket, he retrieved on old beaten wallet, insisting on paying, much to Scully's protest. Secretly, she liked it when he played the gentleman, but she made sure that he couldn't make a habit of it. He handed Scully her glass. Glee was written on her face, but he couldn't tell if it was because of the milkshake that she now held in her hand, or because of _his_ hand that she had held in hers earlier.

"I would have to say quest complete, Agent Scully." He replaced that old, mischievous guise, breaking free of his previous social awkwardness.

"I would have to agree with you there, Agent Mulder." Scully looked up at him as they walked to a nearby seat. "I was going to ask, why did you put it down as 'John Smith'?"

"Sometimes it's easier to lie than to be judged." His plainness was dark: no hint of the usual humour in his words. This sudden shift caught her off guard. Intrigue nibbled away at her thoughts. 

"You've never shied away from other people's opinions before." She placed her milkshake down on a wooden high bar, jumping up onto the stool where Mulder easily stepped up with both drink and dessert balanced in his hands.

"Usually when people judge me it's because of the beliefs I hold. That's fine. I've made those choices knowing the consequences and made them anyway, because they are worth more than all their petty jeering. But I didn't choose my name. I didn't choose to explain myself to every inquisitive stranger."

Scully thought back to the first time she had called him Fox. How strange the name sounded now more than ever. It was a nice name, perhaps a touch unique, but she didn't understand why he hated it so much. She dared to probe a little further, wondering where this would lead her. "I don't think you've ever explained it to me." Her voice wavered with nervousness. _Is this too far?_

He clutched his glass with both hands, looking up at the ceiling, praying to the sky on the other side for some strength. _Why, Scully? Why you of all people_? He let out a long sigh, still unable to face her as he spoke. "Whenever I hear that name, I always hear her. I hear her, Scully. I hear her every time." A small voice had escaped quivering lips. He had barely moved, not even to speak. His whole composure had diminished, like he was joining Scully on her level. He needed her with him on this: he knew that much. 

She suddenly understood him completely. She felt foolish not to have gotten it before. Remembering the last conversation she had had with Melissa still caused an unbearable burrowing pain in her chest. How useless and selfish and guilty it could make you feel. She curled her tiny fingers around his hand and lovingly leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, " she whispered.

"It's not your fault."

"No, it is. I should have known." 

_I should have known_. 

Her eyes were wet from sharing his pain. In some way, she could be happy like that forever: so close to him as to know his soul. To have and to hold: to care and protect. She never wanted to let go. And Mulder didn't want her to.

Eventually, one of them pulled away.

"Dig in." Mulder slid the dish of ice-cream over the counter-top toward her. He answered her confusion before she could ask. "I'm not that hungry."

"You were hungry enough to order it," she remarked.

"I ordered it for you."

"' _To share_ ', Mulder." She quoted his anxious order from not ten minutes ago.

"Alright, you got me." He held his hands up in defence, joking to cheer them both up.

"Why don't you try some? Ice-cream can do people the world of good." She held out a held out a spoon, tempting him with a smile. "Trust me. I'm medically trained."

Reluctantly, Mulder returned the smile and picked up the spoon, taking a chunk out of the dish. He chewed through the cold, frozen food. Another one of his weird eating habits.

"So, why did you order a dessert to share?"

"You're just full of questions today, aren't you?" He examined her expression, looking behind her eyes for the cause of this curiosity. There was that familiar sparkle. Her chin was lifted, perfectly poised to ask a question. _This is just so Scully: no ulterior motive_. He admired her unspoken, unfiltered honesty the most. "You want to know the truth? I have never had a banana boat."

"Never?!"

"Never." 

"You've been robbed, Mulder. I remember summer vacations, wrestling Bill and Melissa and Charlie, seeing who could steal the most."

"I take it Bill always came out on top?"

"No actually, Bill didn't like fighting us, which was a weakness we quickly learnt to exploit." 

He chuckled at the exposure of Scully's wicked side. "Can I ask a question in return?"

"Nope, absolutely not," she smirked. 

"What do you think of Officer Hoffe?" His question was aptly punctuated with the jingle of the bell and a cool draft from the open door. 

"Oh _him_? Well, I don't know, I mean he is... attractive."

Mulder looked over his shoulder to size Jakob up. He wondered what she saw in him that was so good. He had to admit he was objectively good-looking: tall, dark, strong, big eyes, bright smile.

_Holy mother in heaven above._

Mulder quickly looked away, and started with added interest to drink his chocolate milkshake. Still looking ahead of him, he leaned into Scully, whispering in her ear, "Why do I get the feeling we are on a double date?"

The heat of his breath on her neck made her spine tingle. _If only_. She turned to look at him with an eyebrow raised and he felt a sharp, foot-shaped pain on his shin. 

"What?!"

"You know 'what'." 

She directed her attention towards Jakob and Oliver, hoping that Mulder had only been teasing her. They were sat side by side, hands wrapped around one another, their foreheads pressed together. 

"Typical," she sighed. "Always my luck that all the good-looking guys are gay."

"Hey! That's not fair; I'm not gay."

She looked him up and down, pretending to scrutinise every detail of him from those goddamn hazel eyes to his frankly absurdly patterned tie. She spoke her conclusion with a purse of her lips, a raise of her eyebrows, and a small "hmm" . However, she countered this obvious show of approval with, "I never said you were good-looking either."

"Ouch, Scully. You really know how to make a man feel good about himself." He frowned comically but broke almost immediately into a smile. "But seriously, the sheriff has a wife."

"Do you think she knows about it?"

"I dunno. She did seem like she was hiding something earlier. And even if she did know, I doubt she'd talk about it."

"All this gossip and ice-cream, I feel like we should crack out the pillows for a fight," she said over spoonfuls of the dessert.

"That's one of those wishes I always had as a kid. I always wanted to go to a girls' slumber party; not in a weird way. They always seemed really exciting."

_Of course it was, Mulder_. 

"Mulder if you were invited to a girls' slumber party, it wouldn't be a girls' slumber party, would it?" Her pitch rose, squeaking as she chided him. 

"No, but just think of all the food, and the films, and the gossip, and the pillow fights, and the witchcraft, and the Bloody Marys, and the communications with the dead. Like how frickin' cool is a Ouija board? It's so mysterious that nobody can even spell it." 

She tried to hide her comparable feelings of loneliness growing up in the Forces. Always shifting stations left her bereft of any meaningful friendships. She too had on occasion fantasised about what it would be like to be invited to a slumber party

"Mulder, not everything is one of your conspiracies."

"Slumber parties are." He let his hubris show; winning any argument with Scully was an achievement, even if she never believed him. He wasn't sure she would let him be as lucky next time around. 

"Speaking of conspiracies, when did you get the car booked in for?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. I thought we could pay a visit to that dead guy's family in the morning." The thought of a house call turned Mulder's stomach: they were never his favourite. Dealing with grieving family was just another way to demonstrate his lack of social skills.

Scully corrected him, shining a light to his pre-empted social insensitivity. "John Tucker, Mulder. I'll remember to remind you on the doorstep since you're always forgetting."

"Yeah, well, I want to find out more about him."

"Hmm. There go the two love birds."

Through the window, they saw Jakob and Oliver drive off in a police car. Mulder's head whipped around and the rest of him soon followed. He swiftly stepped off of his stool, taking the ice-cream and his milkshake with him.

"Mulder, where are you going?" 

He didn't reply, but continued to walk in the direction of the booth, placing down the desserts. Scully noticed a minute change in his posture: he straightened slightly, almost as if he was a trained hound, ears pricking at the slightest sound. And then she heard it: _Of course. Stuck On You. How fitting. I should have known._

"Scully! Elvis is playing: it must be a sign. I remember dancing to this at a high school dance once." He held out his hand, beckoning her to join him. 

"Mulder, I am not dancing with you."

"Why? You're good at dancing: makes up for your singing." He half expected her to scoff. "Will you at least join me at the table?" 

She grudgingly swung her legs round and jumped down, offering him her infamous lethal stare. "I'm going to pretend that I'm not offended. And anyway when have you seen me dance?" 

"I always see you dancing. Although, it's mostly that smart mind of yours that does the dancing." A smile dashed across his lips, bright and charming. Just like the music, it was infectious. Scully was reminded of the handsome stranger that had previously sat there, and realised it couldn't compare. _Nothing will ever compare._

"So this is the reason you ran off in a rush?"

"What can I say? I'm a sucker for a cosy setting."

Scully slid in, almost huddling up next him, but not quite. She looked down at her half drunk milkshake, her head occupied with half thoughts. The comfortable red leather engulfed her as she sank into a happy feeling, bobbing her head to the tune. She could feel the heat of his gaze, not even pretending to be subtle. _Stupid idiot_. Mulder brushed a strand of hair behind her ear whilst singing an amended version of the lyrics. 

_"I'm gonna run my fingers through your cute red hair."_

_Cute?! Better not be coming on to me._ She gushed all the same. "Shut up, Mulder." 

_"Squeeze you tighter than a grizzly bear."_

She looked up at him. "Don't get any ideas."

He laughed. "I wouldn't dare."

It was true. He wished it wasn't.

He knew the song well, inside out. His thoughts were headed further forward to the chorus. He was stuck on her: on her smile, her laugh, her wit, her smarts. Stuck on her blue eyes staring up at him.

Her mind also raced ahead but to those inevitable words they would both hear. _How will he react? How will I react? Christ_ , _I can't cope with this_. She was transfixed once more by the care in his eyes. _This is too much. They are only words: they don't mean anything._

_'Cause once I catch you and the kissing starts,_

_A team of wild horses couldn't tear us apart._

Those lines came and went and repeated, but nothing happened and she was both relieved and regretful.

It occurred to Mulder that he should probably say something rather than smiling inanely at Scully, but the last time he had tried that, things had fallen flatter than one of his proposed paranormal theories. As the evening dragged on, he found himself dancing around the small talk and silly conversations, watching the diner empty until they were the only ones left. He stared down at their long finished dishes, the remnants of a pleasant afternoon settled at the bottom of the glasses. Now that the diner was closing up, and the radio had been turned off, Scully's breathing turned to audible, little puffs of tiredness, breaking the thunderous silence of the late evening. He looked at the light outside fading over the horizon, slowly being replaced with the neon glow from inside. As much as he wanted to stay, it was time to go. He nudged Scully gently, getting up before Marcy swept them out with a broom along with the rest of the stray trash. 


	7. A Touch of Tranquility

It was late in the evening. The golden haze of the sunset streamed through the Venetian blinds, illuminating paths of dust in the room. Mulder sat on the bed watching the particles dance in that glow, having nothing better to do. The spartan nature of the motel was just like any other he had spent nights sleeping in, but somehow it was alive like no other. The light mingled with the air, animating the silences in life like a play on a stage. He wasn't sure if it was the effect of the light, but he was suddenly aware of the loneliness and escaped dreams these places represented to him: places where he had spent more of his life chasing after monsters than he'd care to admit. 

He shuffled and readjusted himself on the hard bed, unconvinced that the pillows would provide any relief for the discomfort. _I'm gonna have an ass flatter than the Maldives before this night is out._ What he wouldn't give to be in the warm clutches of his couch, safely snuggled in its broken springs and depleted stuffing. He had finally compromised to lying on his side in a heap, when there were four knocks on his door. He didn't bother to sit up; he knew who it'd probably be.

"It's unlocked"

The door swung open to reveal the striking silhouette of Scully, still dressed in her pant suit. _What's with the lack of silk pajamas?_ He scoffed, surprised at his own thoughts.

"What is it this time? Slumber party or did you get a cow through your ceiling?"

"Very funny, Mulder." She remembered the cow incident with an unnecessary amount of vivid imagery. The whole disturbing ordeal was seared to her retina. _Though, it had had its ups_ , she reminisced. He sat up and swivelled round to sit on the edge of the bed, forgetting how painful it would be.

"I'd offer you a seat on the bed, but I think you're better off standing" 

"Thanks" She came and sat at his side anyway: a force of habit.

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Nothing really, it's just that I hate it when it's like this," she said, gesturing to the Tyndall phenomenon pouring in through the blinds. "The world just seems to stop in its marvel. The tranquility it creates is too..." She couldn't find the right words to describe that desperate feeling, so she shrugged and sighed instead. It didn't matter because he knew exactly what she meant.

"Lonely." His voice was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Mhmm"

She leaned forward, elbows on knees, face in hands. The urge to scream was overwhelming just to break the silence. But the silence was stronger. The status quo remained. Instead, she grasped at any conversation she could think of, but made sure it was a topic that would keep him talking for a while. Sometimes she felt guilty for playing into his imagination, but not tonight. Tonight she needed the comfort of his conversation.

"Have you ever thought about all the creatures that don't exist, well that we know of?" The dust in the light had her mesmerised. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue, a yawn was at the door, and instinctively she rested her weary head on Mulder's shoulder. _Mmm. Warm and comfy_. "Have you thought about the monsters we can't see, or won't because we are too afraid to? The daemons that dance in the light?" She couldn't help but let a sarcastic tone press into her last question. _Damn it! That's not what I meant!_ She cursed her hard grained skepticism. 

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you Scully?"

"Maybe." She wasn't trying to be playful, she was just too exhausted to pretend.

"You're tired. You need to get some rest. Come on, I'll take you back to your room," he said gently lifting her off of him, but she protested.

"No, I'm fine here." 

He huffed, knowing it was going to be futile to even consider arguing. Although in all honesty, he was thankful for the company, even if that company was going to be softly snoring soon. Wrapping his arm around her, he thought about her question. He imagined talking to her, like he imagined her companionship when he was alone in his apartment, or long after she had left the basement at night, wishing she was there: _Everyone thinks of the monsters under the bed and at the back of closets, the goblins that steal odd socks from the wash, and the real daemons in the minds of men. How they control the actions of whole nations and feelings of entire hearts_. How they kept him from hugging her closer.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Do I need to?"

She was still awake enough to give him a threatening look.

"One day, I am going to set up a trap for the sock goblin, and when I catch him with a sock clutched in his claws, there will be nothing you can do to disprove all my theories, and I will say I told you so. We will build a little kennel at the bottom of the garden so that Big Foot can keep him as a pet, and that will be his punishment for stealing all my socks from the wash."

"You wash your socks?"

"Shut up, Scully." _Really? Is that most incredulous point?_

She giggled. "I can't see you being fussed about matching socks."

"I only have matching socks. It's a lot easier to pair them when they're all black. But that's a secret. You must promise me not to tell my Mom, because she still thinks she's brought me up alright."

They both laughed.

He let her have the bed that night as he had done on their first case together, removing her shoes and blazer, tucking her in once she had drifted off. He felt somewhat guilty occupying the comfier floor, knowing that she was on that lumpy mattress. He must have spent a good half hour quietly disgruntled on her behalf, mumbling under his breath. _She deserves better than that rock for a bed, ...she should be swaddled in plush, feather pillows and a warm, snugly quilt... God only knows I'll have to put up with the consequences of her neck ache tomorrow..._

As the night drew on, he was unsure of whether it was with wistfulness or tiredness that he gazed at her: _So-called fiery hair tucked behind her ear... closed eyes dreaming sweet dreams... the rise and fall of her chest with her breaths, like waves lapping at the shore... parted lips trembling with each break of the wave..._

Eventually, he joined the chorus of her soft snoring.

.....

Scully awoke the next morning, sun irradiating the room as it had done when she had fallen asleep. Her body was achy and groggy and her mind was not in a much better state. She propped herself up on one elbow, rubbing the sleepy dust from her eyes, piecing together her memory of the previous evening. _Huh? I don't remember getting into bed_. Pealing back the covers, she saw that she was still wearing yesterday's clothes, but her heels were placed neatly on the floor beside the bed. _Hmm. Strange_.

Then she saw it, and it all made sense. 

Mulder was curled up on the floor, only a pillow beneath his head. His arms were wrapped around his body, desperately trying to capture some warmth. She stood up and attempted to press the crumples in her pants out with the palms of her hands. _Oh great, both our suits are ruined_. Then she noticed that Mulder had thoughtfully removed her blazer and laid it at the foot of the bed. Picking it up, she thought of all the small gestures he had made whilst she caressed the lapels with the stroking of her thumbs. She looked back at him. _I guess he is kind of adorable._ She sat on the edge of the bed, watching out of curiosity or tranquillity; she couldn't tell. _The rise and fall of his chest... his peaceful snores... the flick of his brown bangs caught awkwardly in his eyes... that annoying piece of hair just..._ It was no use; the urge to correct it was too strong. Cautious not to wake him, she briskly lent over and brushed away the irritation. She sat for a few more moments in absolute silence, alone with her own thoughts that went wandering back to the previous night. _Why did I even come over? What was I even thinking?_ She tried not to answer those questions. She knew the truth would hurt. Suddenly remembering herself, she checked her watch on the bed side table. _Crap! Is that the time?_ She bent down to wake Mulder up.

"Wakey, wakey, sleepy head," she teased playfully in his ear. "Rise and shine."

His eyes flickered open, blinking back the harshness of the bright light. "Hmm? Oh, Scully. Hi. How was your sleep?" 

"Terrible. You?"

"Same," he grinned.

She gracefully spun around to pick up her shoes. _Is she always this angelic in the morning?_ He told himself to shut up, for the second time in as many days. _Concentrate. Get a grip. What would she think if she knew why you were really staring into 'space'?_ The sound of her voice made him self conscious, dragging him back from grip of madness to some variation of control.

"Listen, Mulder, It's eight thirty..."

"Crap! Is that the time?"

She laughed. "Yeah, we need to get a move on if we want to be at John Tucker's on time. I'll go back to my room, get ready, and meet you outside in thirty minutes?"

He sat up quickly, trying to convince himself he had a good night's sleep. Perhaps a little too quickly. His vision blurred dilapidated, dark and splotchy. "You best make that forty." 

She left his room with her questions still stagnating her thoughts. Striding forward with her blazer folded over her arms, she hid her shame and many crinkles in her shirt. The walk was short to her adjacent room, but it felt like a lifetime under the scrutiny of the other residents. _What must they think of me? Do they make assumptions about my crumpled clothing? My messy hair? My tiredness?_ She glanced at an old woman sitting at a window and another peeping through curtains. 

Averting, all prying eyes, she made it through her door, closing it hurriedly and slumping against it. She gradually fell to the floor, convulsing silently, trying still to deny her feelings. I can't do it. Tears streaked down her cheeks more rapidly with each gasp she took. I can't do this anymore. Her frankness failed to uncomplicate things. Those few steps to her door had emotionally drained her. It's not that... Even alone, she struggled to put words to feelings: to even think about it, because that itself would be an admission of guilt she couldn't live with. So instead she ignored that the overly curious neighbours didn't bother her as she took a shower. She ignored that her own subconscious had seen assumptions on their faces as she got dressed. She ignored that it wasn't the falsehood of the assumptions that ate away at her as she brushed her teeth. She ignored that her pain was because she wished the assumptions were true.

She didn't think about these things as she met Mulder outside, ready for work. 


	8. A Touch of Flowers

The sun was shining bright from a pastel blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds. A fresh summer breeze drawn in from the open car window tickled the hairs on Mulder's arms. It was one of those summer days that made you feel light and indomitable. It was invigorating. They sat in silence, content with the peace. And then Scully suddenly spoke up. 

"Last night, why didn't you sleep on the bed?" Mulder looked at her, surprised. She quickly followed it up with "There was enough room." As if she was only trying to solve a mathematical problem.

"The floor was better sprung," he joked. And she smiled, but it was not an answer she was looking for.

"No, but really Mulder. Why didn't you sleep on the bed?"

He was shocked with her persistence. He didn't like the way she was burrowing into him, like a woodpecker hammering the tree for the beetles of truth. _That's my job. This isn't like her, goddammit. She knows when to quit._ Her unanswered question lingered in the air, gaining an aroma of awkwardness that was more uncomfortable than the bed. It caused goosebumps to pimple Mulder's arms and he shivered, wishing his jacket was on him rather than the backseat. She could see the skin turning white around his knuckles where he clenched the steering wheel. Keeping his eyes on the road, he afforded her an exasperated sigh. "You were in the bed, Scully. I couldn't have just jumped in next to you. You of all people know that it's against bureau policy to share a room anyway, as you so frequently point out. I wasn't about to go and make the situation worse."

_And when has bureau policy ever stopped you from doing anything?_ She was going to argue, but thought better of it.

They both stared at the road ahead, neither of them saying a word until they reached their destination. She wished she had never brought the damned subject up.

..... 

Mulder pulled up outside an ordinary-looking house, complete with white picket fence: The American Dream. He lifted the handbrake with a little more force than he was expecting and got out of the car, making sure to close the door gently, adjusting for his strength and frustration. Pretty flowers bursting with white, yellow, and what he assumed were orange, pink and red populated the front garden and spilled out from the hanging baskets framing the front door. He brushed his fingers against the soft petals as they walked up to the porch, leaving in his wake a trail of bobbing heads. Scully took the head of a flower from one of the hanging baskets, observing it in her delicate hold.

"I have always wanted flowers like these. My Mom used to grow them in our garden when we were little," she remarked in a hushed voice, mostly to herself.

"What kind of flowers are they?"

She was taken off guard by his response. She didn't think that he could hear her, let alone be caring enough to reply, especially how their previous half hour was spent. He saw the smile in her eyes, as she replied; still a little shaky from the surprise. "Begonias I think. The sunburst ones are my favourite."

He made a mental note of the name and the mirky shade of brown he saw caught between her fingers as the door opened. He was always making useless notes on Scully's favourite things from flowers to fountain pens, from books to takeaways. He knew that her favourite ice-cream was neopoliton, because it had three flavours in one, even though she told everyone it was rum and raisin. But she only ate neopoliton when she was ill, because that was how she had had it as a kid, as a sort of special treat. Eating it any other way would remind her of those times and make her feel ill in her own little idiosyncratic way.

_Sunburst Begonias. Don't forget Sunburst Begonias._

Scully reached into her coat pocket, withdrawing her badge to flash at the woman in the doorway. "Hello I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner Special Agent Fox Mulder with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. May we come in please?"

From behind her, Mulder saw Scully wince at the utterance of his covert name. He smiled quietly in rememberence of his confession the previous evening. 

"Yeah sure, I'm just in the middle of vacuuming, so excuse the mess." The women had her fingers nervously tangling through locks of brown and grey-flecked hair as she hastily withdrew back into the house, allowing the agents to follow. They stepped over the temporarily rearranged furniture, dodging piles of paraphernalia and memorabilia stacked precariously high. The woman jittered about waving her hands in substitution for any real words. She gestured for them to sit on the couch that was abandoned in the middle of the living room. 

"Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? I think I have some cookies somewhere..." She trailed off, lost in her own thoughts about where she might have left the cookie jar or if there was any milk in the fridge. 

"No that's alright Mrs Tucker, we're fine, " Scully spoke on both their behalfs.

"Oh, I see." Her expression drooped and she sat on a chair. "It's just, when people come over, I offer them tea or coffee, or when John was a boy and his friends were around, hot chocolate."

"That's actually why we are here Mrs Tucker," Mulder said, jumping in with any conversation he could, attempting to leave the awkwardness at the doorstep. 

"My name is Miss Sweet now, but please call me Mary. I don't like surnames; makes me feel so formal, like I should be wearing a horrible suit. Sorry."

They both graciously smiled. 

"Mary, I know it must be hard losing a child, but we need to ask you some questions. Is that okay?" Scully's tone had a caring delicacy woven throughout. 

Mary nodded frantically as if to shake her tears away. 

"You are John's only surviving relative. Is that correct?" 

"Yes his father died last year - that's when I took my maiden name: we have been separated for quite some time now. Had been. Sorry. We didn't have any other kids." 

"Was John visiting you on the night of the accident?" 

Mary broke into a ball of convulsions. "We had roast dinner," was all she managed to say inbetween bouts of hysterical sobs. 

"Do you know what time he left?" Mulder asked in a level tone, unsure how to show empathy for the grief consuming her.

"Around eight-ish?... I'm sorry... I don't really... know." 

"Do you know where he was going?"

"They were going back to Joyce's place. Joyce is his fiancée; lovely girl. Was... his fiancée. Oh my God." Her hands flew to her face burying the pain of the continuous realisation that she had outlived her son: something no parent should have to endure. 

"Do you have her address that we can contact her at?" 

"Yes... but she went missing the night that... I don't know where she is. I hope she's safe. Please, you will find whoever did this, won't you?" She looked at them with blotchy, red eyes, searching for any small glimmer of hope. 

"I'm not sure it's going to be as easy as that," Mulder mumbled and instantly wished he hadn't. He felt the rather pointy heel of Scully's shoe find its way to his big-toe. He bit his cheek to stop himself from crying out. 

Scully reassured Mary in a soothing tone. "We will do all that we can Miss Sweet." 

"Thank you."

Scully got up and brushed herself off. "Thank you for your time. We will be in contact with you if there are any developments with the case." She left, leaving Mulder to hobble after her. 

..... 

"What is wrong with you?" Her question was plain, almost mistakable for a statement. 

"What?" 

"Well, you weren't exactly the most reassuring back there."

"I told her the truth. Isn't it better for her to know than to believe in a lie that won't even make her happy?" Mulder knew that he was slowly and unintentionally climbing onto his high horse. He wished he could have changed his tone, but he was already past the point of no return. 

"And what truth is that Mulder?" She questioned him with a bitterness so strong he could taste it in his own mouth. It absorbed any words he would have said, leaving him spellbound. "See, you don't even know yourself. Give me the keys."

"I'll drive, Scully"

"No, I'm driving, Mulder."

"Scully, I don't think you should drive when you're like this." 

If her aggravation wasn't painted on her expression clearly enough, it was evidently marked in her words. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean? Give me the keys and get in."

"Sure. Fine. Whatever," he muttered, tossing her the keys. 


	9. A Touch of Brunch

"Scully? Do you feel like getting some brunch?" he asked, tentatively stepping around the question. His eyes flitted about the dashboard, too nervous to focus on the fiery redhead driving the car. Scully had gotten her way; she always did. 

"I'm fine, Mulder."

"Okay." He shortly answered. The awkward air immediately resumed and after five minutes of his thoughts screaming at him in the silence, he couldn't take it any longer. He attempted to make amends, even if he didn't believe what he was saying was entirely true. "I'm sorry for being a jerk back there." 

She huffed in response, annoyed that he was persisting with the conversation. Although he still didn't dare face her, he knew that she was rolling her eyes: it was audible. He gave in, desperate to break that steely face she was wearing, and begged, "Please will you forgive me? I hate it when you're mad at me." Unexpectedy, Mulder found a grin when he peaked at her. _Where is that infamous scowl?_

"Okay," she sighed through a smirk. "Where do you want to eat?" There was a wicked glint in her eye that had Mulder wondering whether she had played along the entire time just to get him to admit his defeat. Because if there was one thing Scully excelled at, it was winning the game. 

"I don't know. Should we pay Marcy a visit?" 

"Why? Have you got a bit of a thing for her? I did see the way you smiled at her yesterday," she teased. 

"I do not, Scully. That's complete and utter B.S. and you know it." The words took control of themselves, projecting forward with surprising vigour. She laughed at his quickly fronted defence. He laughed too. "You should laugh more often." It wasn't a dig at her, merely an observation and perhaps a plea. 

"You could try telling some funnier jokes, " she quipped. 

"Touché, Scully. Touché." He fumbled around in the car door, before withdrawing with a cassette, wiggling it between his fingers. "Fancy Elvis?"

"He's not really my type: I prefer unconventional FBI agents." She chuckled at her joke before her face flushed a deep red, realising the implications of what she had said. _Shit, did I actually just say that?!_

 _Did she really just say that?!_ His shock was only betrayed by a small hesitation before his quick-witted mind responded, "So I'm unconventional now, am I?" 

He knew he was tiptoeing on what could quickly turn to shards of broken glass, but he wanted to hear her say as much, or at least show in some way what was running through her head. Weirdly, he couldn't quite gauge it. _There's the obvious flirtation, but she couldn't mean..._

"I never said so."

He feigned the shock this time. "Scully! Is there somebody else at the bureau that spends there weekends UFO spotting that I should know about? Perhaps we could buddy up." 

Scully was thankful Mulder had not freaked out, but she wished she could just tell him. It was starting to tear her insides out. She didn't know how long she could last without accidentally dropping another hint. She regained her senses, managing to speak without stuttering, "Mulder, never mind the bureau, you know full well that no-one else in DC is as bat-crap crazy as you are. " 

"You'll just have to make do with me, Scully. " 

She smiled. _You say that like it's a bad thing but honestly, it's the best thing there is._

He leaned across to put the cassette in the player, a little closer than Scully would care to admit she liked. This was his turn to up the stakes. He mischievously grin as he 'steadied' himself with the placement of his hand upon her thigh. _Two can play at this game._

Once an old, familiar tune started blaring out of the stereo, Mulder sat back. Their thoughts were painted over by the music, concealing their feelings in a mixture of guitar chords and drum beats, drowning out the confusion and complicated emotions they were both victims to.

..... 

Although, only mid-morning, Scully noted the diner retained the warmth and comfort like it was still soaked in yesterday's evening glow. She approached the counter with a spring in her step, turning to send a knowing smirk to Mulder, who was grudgingly holding back. 

"Hey, Marcy isn't it?" She extended pleasantries with a warm smile, knowing Mulder was writhing in his skin. "How are things?" 

"Good. We've been quite busy recently. So, you know, hectic, but the business is on the up." She seemed to validate her statement with a frantic tone and a flustered wave of a hand. 

Behind them, Mulder was still milling about when his phone rang. _Thank God_. He scrambled around, patting all of his pockets: he had never been the most organised. He withdrew the plastic brick and picked up. "Yeah... Uh-huh... Just a minute..." He held the phone away from his ear, placing a hand over the transmitting end and leaned in to whisper to Scully. "Scully, would you order for me? I've got to get this." 

She nodded, turning back to Marcy. "Could I get a chicken caesar salad, please? And a... No, actually, just make that two." 

"Yep. Do you want anything else with that?" she asked whilst punching the buttons on the till. 

"Er, two americanos would be great, thanks." 

"Sure, it'll be with you in a minute."

In the meantime Scully looked around the diner, taking in the detail that had slipped her the previous evening. Her eyes glanced from the window through which she could see Mulder pacing with a hand held to his ear to the high bar and yesterday's vision of their clasped hands. It was quieter at this earlier hour and so she noticed the artistic imagination that had gone into the chique décor. Even though she was a practical, no-fuss kind of person, Scully had an appreciative eye for taste. 

Mulder ran in to join Scully at the counter. "Hey, Scully, you'll never guess what."

"E.T.'s phoned home?" she suggested. 

Ignoring her jab at him he replied, "The garage has finished with the car. We can head down after we've finished here."

"Here are your two chicken caesar salads, John, and two americanos."

"Aww. She remembers you, _John_." Scully held her grin hiding behind her lips. She couldn't help it if she got a kick out of teasing Mulder like this. 

_Shut up, Scully_ , he thought, respectfully keeping his mouth shut. 

"That'll be eighteen dollars altogether please."

"What, no ice-cream?" Mulder whined. 

Scully gave him one of her looks. _Really, Mulder?_ She fiddled about in a deep pocket of her long, sweeping coat; her relatively short arms squirming to reach the bottom for her purse. She caught Mulder's eye and his hand on top of her own that now boasted the purse. He gently frowned. _No, Scully, I'll pay._ However, she shook his hand off– _No, I'm paying this time_ – not letting him play the gentleman twice in two days lest he get ideas above his station. 

She handed Marcy a twenty-dollar bill. "Keep the change."

They made their way over to the familiar cosy booth, the memories of the previous night already feeling like a distant, impossible dream. Scully slumped in close to the divider this time, nestled between it and the warmth of Mulder next to her. She was cornered in on all sides, a pleasant feeling of security hugging her body tightly. She traced the tip of her tongue over the boundary of her lip, chasing thoughts of ice-cream and Elvis memory had lingering there. 

Mulder twirled his fork in the lettuce, holding up strands of green. "Caeser salad, Scully?" 

She looked up from her daydream. "What? I got you a coffee too." 

It was awkward facing him at such a sharp angle, so she settled for staring at the salad he had pushed around his plate. _Why would you insist on sitting on the same side? And why so close?_

"It's just... Why would you ruin some perfectly good chicken by sprinkling some leaf on top? It's just yucky." He picked out everything, leaving the lettuce untouched on the plate. 

_Yucky?! I can't win with you Mulder,_ she chuckled softly. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," she dismissed his curiosity with the wave of her hand, but he insisted. 

"Scully, what is it?" 

"It's hard to talk to you like this. Why didn't you sit on that side?" she asked, gesturing to the empty seat opposite them with her fork before hungrily attacking some chicken. 

"Why? Upset you can't see my handsome face?"

"Something like that," she mumbled.

"Is there any chance of looking at the dessert menu?" He wiggled his eyebrows in anticipation. 

"Mulder, we are not having ice-cream for breakfast."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but you just ordered two chicken salads, Scully, which tells me this is actually lunch." _Ha_ , he thought, _got her this time_. 

"You can't win me over that easily, Mulder. When have I ever fallen for your irrefutable logic?"

He grinned, partly because he knew sarcasm was her last line of defense. "When haven't you, Scully?" 

"Come on, we should get going." She started clearing her dish away, placing knife and fork neatly side by side, ignoring his ceaseless fountain of humour. 

"You're the boss," he commented absent-mindedly. 

He was partway through getting up to leave when Scully replied; her raised eyebrow interrogating him. "Am I? I shall remember that."

_Crap._


	10. A Touch of Parts

Mulder and Scully strode into the garage. Scully noticed the white walls were almost gleaming with pristine cleanliness. It was unsettling in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, making her doubt her footing. 

Mulder walked on ahead. "Hey, Martha, you've got the mechanic's notes?" 

"Yes, they are here." She pushed a piece of paper across the the counter. "Shannon is also through there with the car, she says that there are a few things that she needs to show you."

Scully, still slightly confused about what Mulder had ordered the garage to do, asked: "Any idea what about?" 

"I think it is best that you see for yourself."

Mulder glanced at Scully, whispering, "well don't the mysteries come thick and fast."

_As if we ever catch a break from them,_ she thought. 

Martha gave them both a stern look, letting it hang in the air. "It is this way."

She led them through the garage floor, footsteps ominously echoing throughout the room. In the next room, Shannon was rubbing her hands on an oily rag whilst dirt coated her arms to where her sleeves were rolled at the elbows: a stark contrast to the spec-free garage. This was clearly expressed in Martha's disgruntled face. 

Shannon stepped forward, offering a hand before retracting it, considering the dirt she hadn't managed to rub off. 

"You must be Agent Mulder."

Mulder nodded, barely containing his smirk at the older lady's clear abhoration for the filth in what was by nature, a mucky profession. _Honestly,_ _why is she in this profession?_ She retreated to the safety of her office, making sure to run an index finger down the wood of the door and inspect it before she went inside. 

"This is my partner Agent Scully. We were told you wanted to see us in person."

Shannon rubbed her forehead, unconsciously spreading the dirt. "Well I'm not sure how best to describe it. It's not like anything I've ever seen, even the stuff that comes in for scraping. I've listed all the stuff down in my notes–" she gestured to the folded piece of paper, the corners of which were slowly bending in Mulder's fidgeting fingers– "but you need to see this."

Scully walked around to where she started fiddling with a panel. "I gather you found some points of significance then?" 

"Hoo, yes. As you can see, while the chassis is structurally deformed, the rest of the body is still intact, if a little crumpled, Yet there's no engine, no gear box, the rotator shaft is gone, as is the battery. It's like somebody cherry picked all the best bits: all the essentials."

Scully queeried an eyebrow in Mulder's direction, knowing this was why he ordered the service. She could see a switch being flicked behind his eyes as his mind raced to piece together all the dots. 

"Like somebody harvested all the vital organs," he said. 

"Exactly."

Scully scoffed. "Good thing it wasn't a Jeep; there would be none of it left."

Mulder smiled quietly at her joke. _Ever the erudite._

"I think this has certainly clarified a few things. Thank you for your time."

Just as they were turning to leave, the sound of footsteps approached them from behind. Mulder huffed, expecting to meet the bitter presence of Martha again, but was surprised to see the Sheriff's wife instead. 

"Ah, Officer Roberts." He greeted her with a professional smile, cautious of the anxious frown she was wearing. "Perfect timing. Take a look at this."

"Yes, I saw that you had booked the wreck in for a once over. I came down to see why exactly you'd order an autopsy for an automobile." Her tone was clip and biting, clearly still distressed. 

"You'll just have to see for yourself. The notes are all there." 

He handed the papers to Officer Roberts, who turned incredulously to Scully. 

"Do you believe this Agent Scully?" 

Scully sighed. "So far, it's just an observation of fact, for which we have evidence. I am yet to come to any conclusion as to what it suggests, and I'm not sure that is relevant to the death of John Tucker."

Freda nodded, still not convinced, but comforted by a woman who at least shared the same concept of applying rational thought to the subject. "And you, Agent Mulder, you seem like you have a theory."

"It's only a theory, useless without evidence of intent."

She tilted her head. "You believe the damage is intentional?" 

"The specificity of it would suggest so."

Fed up with the cryptology, Freda huffed and folded her arms, bracing herself for the question that had been eating away at her all day. "I actually came down to ask if you had seen my husband lately. He hasn't shown up for work today."

"No, we haven't seen him since..." Scully discretely glared at him. "...I spoke to you yesterday."

"Hmm. I'll be on my way then." 

Exasperated, Freda handed the notes back over and left the agents to their theories.

_....._

Outside of the garage, the sun was still beating down and the air was stifling with little breeze. Scully held her hand up to her eyes, damming Mulder's height as she tried to avoid the glare of the light. "So what's the joker you've kept up your sleeve, Mulder?"

"Don't you see it, Scully?" 

He started striding towards the car, whilst she tried to keep up with his enthusiasm and simultaneously not blind herself. _Stupidly tall idiot._

She frowned at him. "No, please spell it out to me."

"The things that you noted in the autopsy are near enough identical to the condition of the car."

"It's a bit far fetched to compare a human being to a clunky piece of machinery like that."

He was hunched now, looking at her at eye level– _Thank God_ – whilst still walking away and gesticulating wildly. "Not really to aliens! To them it could appear like a symbiotic relationship. And the removal of vital organs, is an investigation into better understanding how we function. What keeps us ticking over!"

"But still." She didn't know quite what to say. 

"Still what? It makes perfect sense if you think about it."

She pursed her lips. _No getting out of this one_. She was about to attempt some very scientific rebuttle when Mulder's phone chirped for the second time that morning.

"Someone's Mr. Popular. Who is it this time?" 

He rolled his eyes at her. 

"Agent Mulder. Yep, right. We will be on our way." He hung up with a grim expression on his face. "They've found the body of the Sheriff on the forest road." 

Scully's face instantly soured with the mood. "Wait, he's dead?!"

"Automobile accident."

She knew he was thinking it. "Another abduction?" 

He sighed, "I hope not."

Scully picked up the pace, running to the car. _He didn't get home last night. He wasn't going home, the town is in the opposite direction to the forest road. Why was he going to the forest?_ She halted just before the door, her mind racing with a million thoughts, but most predominantly of the clearly anxious wife they had confronted just ten minutes ago.

"Has anyone told Officer Roberts?" 

_Was he with Officer Hoffe? Where is Jakob anyway?_

Mulder jumped into the driver's side. "She was the one that found him."

Scully chucked him the keys. "God..."


End file.
